


Stone Soup

by Dorksidefiker



Category: Generation X (Comic), Marvel (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 05:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13228623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorksidefiker/pseuds/Dorksidefiker
Summary: They've got a crap plan, and it's a long way to LA without any food.





	Stone Soup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlitheFool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlitheFool/gifts).



> A slightly belated gift fic for Blithefool from Shoujocowboy. Enjoy!

“I got this,” Angelo insisted sleepily even as he dragged the thin, scratchy covers over his shoulder and fell asleep.

 

Jono was willing to admit, when he stopped to think about it, that what they had was an all around  _ crap _ plan.  It’d seemed so simple when Angelo had first proposed it; go to LA and deal with some unfinished business.  Couldn’t possibly take that long.

 

That had been three days ago, and they’d just blown the last of their cash on a motel room so gross it made his skin itch.  They’d been sleeping rough since they’d outwitted the X-Cutioner (what a bloody stupid name  _ that _ was), and Angelo needed an  _ actual _ bed, at least for a little while.  They’d barely made any progress in those three days; Jono wasn’t sure if they’d even made it out of Massachusetts yet.

 

The real problem was, Angelo wasn’t going to get much further without  _ food _ .

 

Jono sat in the tacky, scratchy, uncomfortable chair and watched Angelo sleep, picking at the nap with his fingernails.

 

He slept the sleep of the truly exhausted, and Jono envied him for it.

 

_ And what’s so important in Los Angeles? _  Jono wondered.  His fingers itched with the need for  _ something _ to do, and the cheap upholstery suffered for it, an ever growing collection of naps disappearing into the threadbare carpet.

 

He missed smoking.  He missed holding a cigarette between his fingers, filling the lungs he no longer had with smoke, he missed just letting a cigarette burn down to the filter between his fingers.

 

Angelo had a pack in his pocket; Jono had seen it, seen Angelo slowly working his way through the cigarettes, rationing them out as they made their way down the road.  Wouldn’t be that hard to filch just  _ one _ and let it burn down, the way Angelo was sleeping.

 

It’d be better than sitting alone in the dark with just the steady drone of Angelo’s snoring, staring at a broken TV and wondering how Angelo was going to sleep tomorrow.

 

If they got out early enough, they could hit the dumpster behind the Denny’s before they were on the road again, before the heat of the sun baked the garbage into something that even Jono would have refused to touched at his lowest.

 

Sod the whole damn country.  He’d bummed his way from Holyhead to St. Petersberg, and it hadn’t been half as hard as this.  What business did this country have being so abominably large?  And without a proper, functioning railway system!

 

Was a train from Boston to LA that much to ask for?  Something they could sneak on to and sneak off of and not have to wait for some asshole to stop his damn car and carry them a few miles onward?

 

He was almost sure there was one, but Angelo had vetoed the idea, citing trains, planes, and buses being the first places Frost and Cassidy would check.

 

Jono finally hauled himself out of the chair.  He bypassed Angelo and that oh so tempting packet of cigarettes to rifle through the drawers for anything that the last people might have left behind.

 

He found almost a dollar in change and a badly tarnished Chuck E. Cheese token.

 

Angelo continued to sleep like a rock, damn his grey hide.

 

Pocketing the change, Jono slipped on the fake beard and stepped outside, hands deep in the pockets of his jacket.

 

Stars might have been nice, with a round moon filling the sky, but all Jono saw when he raised his eyes was thin grey clouds and inky, infinite blackness.  Whatever starlight there might have been were drowned out by the buzzing, tacky orange of the lights flooding the parking lot, and the moon had no interest in filtering past the clouds.

 

It must have been cold.  Jono couldn’t feel it, but the kid sitting on the stairs up to the next floor was bundled up, and each time he breathed, it came out as a little puff of white.

 

The kid watched Jono over the top of his book, and Jono pretended not to see him, keeping his hands in his pockets and letting his eyes drop to the cracked pavement beneath his feet.

 

Hadn’t they passed a McDonalds on the way?  Probably.  But how far was it?  Which way had it been, and could they make it back without losing too much time?

 

Another boy came out from one of the upper rooms and sat on the stairs next to the first.  This one wasn’t nearly as heavily dressed, and the flannel shirt he wore screamed ‘thrift shop reject’.  Too long in the arms and missing buttons, and possibly the warmest thing he had on hand.

 

“Hey mister, got a smoke?”

 

Jono flicked his eyes over the boys and shook his head, the coins in his pocket slipping between his fingers.

 

The second boy nudged the first, and they both turned away from Jono to share a whispered conversation.  He heard the familiar rustle of money, slipped from one boy to the other and right into a pocket.

 

**_Thinking of… ordering a pizza,_ ** Jono said slowly.  The words still came with so much difficulty.  He had to think about each one and push it  _ out _ , trying to connect to the person he was talking to.

 

He  _ hated _ it.  A year ago, words had come so easily to him, flowing from his mouth and from his fingers, meaningless and charming and often cruel.  Now he had to work so hard just to say five little words and make them understood.

 

Writing was still easy, but it was all meaningless drivel.

 

The boys treated Jono with just as much suspicion as he knew he deserved.  Jono didn’t know the boys personally, wasn’t about to go poking in their heads to find out anything about them, but he knew the type.  They were kids in name only, and weren’t about to trust some stranger with bad facial hair hanging out in a parking lot in the middle of the night.

 

Frost would have just reached into their heads and made them give her their money.  She’d have snared the first driver passing them by in a Porche, and been in Los Angeles by now.

 

Jonothon Starsmore was not Emma Frost.

 

**_Could see my way… to sharing a slice or two… if you wouldn’t mind kickin’ in a bit._ **

 

The second boy nudged the first, and they huddled together in whispered conversation, turning away from Jono to keep him from hearing.  He could see the way their breath turned to little clouds as they whispered, and the second boy slapped the first on the arm before getting to his feet.  The second boy bounded lightly up the stairs, graceful as a cat.  The first boy didn’t even bother going back to reading his book, letting it sit in his lap.  He watched Jono with squinty, pale eyes.  His skin looked sallow in the lamplight, but so did Jono’s.

 

Silently, the boy with the book produced a couple of crumpled bills, a one and an especially dirty five.

 

**_Thanks._ **  Jono didn’t snatch the money from the boy, keeping a safe and careful distance.  There was a familiar ferality to the boy, and a sudden move might send him running.

 

Up on the second floor, Jono could hear the other boy knowing on someone’s door.

 

“Monica!  Hey, Monica!  You in?  Come oooooon, Monica, I know you’re there!”

 

“Fuck off, Brent.  I’m not buying you cigarettes again.”

 

“Aww, but Monica-!”

 

“I said  _ fuck off _ , Brent!”

 

“How about some pizza?  To share?  Guy downstairs is buying! Just a couple bucks?  Maybe we could get a Coke too.”

 

The boy with the book caught Jono’s eye, then rolled his eyes and turned his mouth down in an exaggerated frown.  Jono arched an eyebrow and mimed a silent laugh.

 

Jono took a few steps back, trying to see who the boy -- who  _ Brent _ \-- was talking to.  All he could see was a mass of poorly maintained brown curls - a cheap wig that’d seen far better days, probably back when Jono was still in nappies.  The owner of the wig pushed past Brenth and peered over the trail, a wizened faced woman with no chin worth speaking of and, Jono was willing to bet, no teeth left.  Not with the way her lips were sunken in.  Jono raised a hand in a perfunctory greeting.

 

“Looks like he’s on heroin.  You a junkie, boy?”

 

Jono let his hand drop. He had known many a Monica in his life; A woman old years before her Time, tough as old leather and bitter as crab apples, With just the tiniest soft spot for a big eyed waif, if the waif knew how to play his cards right.

 

Jono had known many a Brent too. Before he'd blown his jaw off, he'd been one.

 

There was just the right amount of desperation in Brent’s tone, and Jono would have applauded if it wouldn't have given the game away. “C’mon, please? Dad's got a friend in and there's no way he's letting us in before two. Something hot would go a long way.”

 

Oh, he was good.  Jono could  _ feel  _ Monica’s sympathy wearing down her walls in spite of everything he was throwing up to keep it out.

 

It would all go out the window for Brent when he became a grotty teenager rather than a reasonably cute kid, but for now he was making it work.  Monica disappeared back into her room, emerging long enough to press a few crumpled bills into the boy’s hand.  “ _ No _ mushrooms,” she snaps, glaring down at Jono.

 

**_Any… other requests?_ ** Jono asked, briefly meeting the eyes of the boy with the book again.  Monica stopped back into her room, slamming her door shut hard enough to make a dog that really  _ shouldn’t _ have been there start barking, ignoring someone yelling at the dog to  _ shut the hell up, Cookie! _

 

“... extra cheese?” the boy whispered, his voice soft and musical in a way that send a thrill of jealousy through Jono.

 

Brent thudded down the stairs like a herd of elephants, throwing himself down on the step next to the boy with the book.  “And a Coke!”  He passed Jono half the money Monica had given him, bringing them up to nine dollars and change.

 

A foggy glass door beneath the stairs swung open with a protesting squeal, unleashing a rolling cloud. Steam rose into the night air, smelling strongly of cheap soap, old sweat, and mildew; if Jono had still had a stomach, it would have been bad enough to make even him gag.  A man half staggered out, gulping down lungfuls of fresh -- or at least, less fetid -- air.  “Christ God Al-fucking-mighty!”  He raised his eyes, pushing greasy blond hair out of the way and catching it in a little knot at the base of his neck, noticing first Jono, then the boys.  Shivering in a tank top that still had the tag dangling from the armpit and boxers just the right side of decent, he leaned against the side of the stairs.  “Fuck’s going on out here?”

 

“Gonna get some pizza.”  Brent rolls on his side.

 

**_No mushrooms_ ** , Jono added,  **_extra cheese.  And a Coke._ **  Blondie shifted his weight, putting himself a little more between Jono and the boys.   **_Ordering in._ **

 

That was the right thing to say, obviously.  Blondie relaxed a little, even with goose pimples still dotting his flesh.  He shook his head like a dog, looking at Jono like he wasn’t really sure where the voice had come from.  A small part of him cursed himself for not paying more attention to Ms. Frost when she’d tried to teach him how to make his telepathic ‘voice’ sound more natural.

 

Angelo had done all the talking when they’d checked in, and if either of the boys had noticed the  _ wrongness _ of Jono’s voice, they didn’t care, but this guy, in his underwear in the middle of the night,  _ he _ just had to notice.

 

**_Could share a slice or two… if you wanna chip in…_ **

 

Blondie ran his tongue over his teeth, studying Jono with surprisingly shewed eyes.  “Pepperoni and black olives, and I’ll toss in a few bucks.”

 

**_Deal._ **

 

Blondie disappeared back into the laundry room and came back out with a literal handful of change, dropping it into Jono’ cupped palms.  A few coins rolled away into the darkness, but the slightly damp coins would be enough to cover everything.

 

Hell, maybe there’d even be enough left over to give the delivery boy a  _ tip _ .

 

Shoveling the coins into his pocket, Jono hustled over to the pay phone under the watchful eyes of the two boys and the underwear clad Blondie.  Some wise and wonderful soul had taped a Chucky Cheese token to a bit of string next to the coin slot.

 

**_Bless._ **

 

Flipping through the ragged phone book chained to the phone book and dropping the Chucky Cheese token in over and over, he found a pizza place that was actually  _ open _ that late.

 

A shame no amount of Jono ‘shouting’ could get the tired sounding woman to hear him, frustrating Jono to the point where he melted the phone.

 

Plus side, coins showered from the twisted box to fall at Jono’s feet, most of them only slightly scorched, in spite of the presence of the taped token.

 

Minus side, the dog was barking again.

 

“You okay, man?”  Blondie scurried over, dodging broken glass and kneeling to help Jono scoop up the scorched coins.  “Fuck, looks like someone took a firecracker to that bastard.”

 

Jono shook himself, desperately hoping that Blondie couldn’t see the fire rolling beneath his scarf.   **_It… just… blew._ **

 

“Goddamn bastard assholes.  World’s fulla’em.  You don’t sound so good, guy.”  Blondie actually looked concerned, shoveling coins at Jono.  “C’mon, I’ll get Shelby to call.  Her sister works at Dominos, if we give her a slice we can get a discount or somethin’.”

 

Shelby took one look at Blondie and flicked a cigarette butt at him when they shuffled into the glassed in front office of the motel, turning to Jono with an expression full of yellow stained teeth and inherent resentment.  “Yeah?  Nothin’ wrong with your room, don’t try saying there is!”

 

**_Nothing wrong,_ ** Jono assured her.   **_Just need… a phone.  Payphone broke._ **

 

“Not again!”  Shelby threw her hands up dramatically.

 

“Actually, could you call?”  Blondie leaned against the counter, tracing patterns on the ash covered counter.  “Dee’s working tonight, right?  We’re all dyin’ for some pizza.”

 

Jono dropped the coins onto the counter, followed by the crumpled, filthy bills, and watched Shelby count it all silently.  He felt almost weak with relief when she agreed, snatching the phone from it’s cradle with a roll of her eyes.

 

They ended up with two pizzas, one the promised pepperoni and black olives with extra cheese, the other a godforsaken concoction of banana peppers, ham, and pineapple that Jono was allowed to carry away after sacrificing only one slice to the boy with the book.  He even had almost half of the pizza that didn’t look like an abomination to give to Angelo.

  
**_Not a bad night,_ ** Jono decided, settling back into the horrible floral chair, a pizza and a half cooling on the dresser and a handful of coins still jingling in his pocket.   **_Not too bad at all._ **


End file.
